Cacophony
by creatoriginsane
Summary: Some people say that they both escaped their cruel fate, but they believe otherwise. / Scenes between a man of wood and a woman of steel.
1. conversation

It doesn't take a genius to realize that they have one obvious thing in common. Her former so-called mentor was his kidnapper. It wasn't an issue for the both of them, however, because she didn't know him and he has never heard of her. But she was aware of her mentor's experiments, and he was aware of the bloody fights in the arena.

Some people say that they both escaped their cruel fate, but they believe otherwise.

"You were rescued."

"You were…let go."

Their midday conversation encountered a lapse when they began speaking about their childhood, or lack thereof, spent in their own individual cages. He in the tank, constantly being pumped with liquid DNA he is forced to consume, to swallow, become. And she in the arena, constantly bombarded with opponents and the continual flow of bloodshed.

"I was the best." She tells him, pressing the rim of the teacup to her bottom lip.

"I'm sure you were." He assures her.

"I was invincible. I killed all of them." She pauses at the thought. "I killed all of them."

They both know, that if he was rescued not before she came into the company of her former mentor, she would be the one sent to retrieve his body, or more likely his corpse. He was six years old, and if only he remained in one of the several tanks of her former mentor for another two or three years, he would have met her.

Maybe they could have been friends.

Maybe she would have fought him, and won.

Or lost.

"You think of yourself as a murderer." He concludes. "A victor maybe?"

"Kill or be killed." She replies swiftly. "I consider myself a survivor."

"I think I'm better suited for that term."

"No." She shakes her head. "I think you're the victor between the two of us."

And it might be true. He might have been the one to triumph over the hold of her mentor, to continually free himself from the chokehold, whilst she was set free, her freedom upon her former mentor's consent.

"He let you go because there was someone younger." He murmurs.

"Someone better." She corrects him.

It is true, at least for her, that she was so easily replaced by the lone prodigy, the last survivor, the victim of his older brother's treachery. He is the boy who plays with fire and has an electric touch. She admits that she is envious of his prowess, if only she had lightning coursing through her veins the same way he does, then maybe she wouldn't have been let go.

Her blood is iron and her skin is steel, she diverts his lightning with magnetism, but she could only do so much. She can still burn the same way steel burns and bends when exposed to hot fire, and she does not possess his bloodline; copying techniques and subjecting their opponents into mental torture, slow down their time and make them vulnerable…

"He learns fast." She adds.

And it is true as well, she teaches him sword techniques and various style and he learns all of them, of is it that he is using his bloodline? Merely copying her movements and mimicking the way she breathes when she cuts the air across his face. He picks up every movement, every bit of hesitation. In a sense, she cannot beat him, but the matches they've shared tell of the opposite.

"I won forty-five out of our fifty-six matches. He plays dirty. He plays well."

"And if he were to battle you now?" He ponders.

"I'd choose to surrender than to burn in the wrath of Amaterasu."

"So you aren't invincible, at least, not to him." He concludes.

And it is true, the truest of the truths she has told him.

"And to you?" She asks.

He doesn't answer. She doesn't ask again. The weather here is warm on most days, but today it is overcast, cold, and their conversation comes to an abrupt halt.

It begins to rain.


	2. calm

_The calm after the storm is the cruelest of them all_ , she tells him over the idle chatter of the younger crowd one autumn morning. The smell of burning pyres, she tells him, lingers in the air even long after the aftermath of battle.

"How do they smell like?" He asks.

"Barbeque." She responds and he looks at her with wide eyes, swallows the piece of meat in his mouth in a harsh gulp. He almost coughs.

 _She's joking._

"No, no, not really." She shrugs off, "They use a technique to cover up the smell of burning flesh with that of incense."

"Ah." He ponders. "So you don't know what they really smell like?"

"Why?" She turns to him. "Do you?"

"N-no. Not really." He averts his eyes. _It's not that_ , he thinks, it's just he doesn't stay long enough to witness the burning of the funeral pyres. It's in his nature, probably, that he at least attempt to avoid allowing the scent of death to linger around him. He wonders, then, that if she stayed long enough to watch the burning of the pyres, then wouldn't she reek of death?

"You're probably thinking how death smells like." She says before biting hard onto the steak on her fork. "It might smell like me." She chews. "It might smell like nothing at all." She says so casually, as if it weren't that big of a deal.

To someone like her, it might not be, and it should be the same for him, and yet…

"I thought you were going to say regret."

She stops.

"But in all honesty, I think you smell pretty nice."

She almost chokes.

 _Really?_

"Clean. Strong. Musky. Are you using men's shampoo?"

She puts down her fork in a loud clatter and stops altogether.

"Are you making a fool out of me?" She mutters.

"No, no, no!" He quickly defends. "I was making a joke, that's all. I wasn't sure how you'd react to it, seeing as you're always so serious…"

 _Always?_

Was she?

"Am I?" She asks quietly, almost inaudibly against the noise around them.

"Well-" He hesitates, unsure of whether to answer or to tell her to forget about it, although the latter would be a bit dangerous…

He begins to wonder and she watches him.

"In a sense." He begins.

"Of course." She cuts him off.

The lapse in their conversation is awkward, provocative. He flushes as though he's made a mistake, but can't admit it.

"Well, someone has to take things seriously since the rest of my team isn't planning to."

 _Tori-Hana-Ken_ , the bird, the blossom, and the blade. Her three-man, or rather woman, team was composer of her, the samurai, Asayake Tenkou, the thief, and Koubaku Haru, the geisha. They were a dysfunctional team of sorts, but still a team that was effective and efficient.

"It was just a joke." He mumbles.

"I know." She grins and then looks at him shocked expression, "What? I can't leave the conversation hanging like that, if I had one of us would have to leave."

"Leave?"

"The awkwardness is overwhelming, if you couldn't tell."

"Thank you."

"Okay, now you've made it even more awkward." She laughs. "But fine."


	3. confession

She has a collection of sharp edges: knives, daggers, and cutting blades of various sizes. They hang around her rented apartment and he just had to ask, _why?_

"My father was a swordsmith." She answers. "I began crafting swords eight years ago."

She doesn't sell them, doesn't believe in their worth in gold, doesn't think her blades would suit anyone but her. And he believes that. Her collection has hung on the walls of rented apartments, rooms, and safe houses for as long as she can remember.

"Why bring them around with you?" He appreciates her aesthetic, the dangerous samurai with skin of steel and a heart of gold, but wonders why she would have to materialize her persona in the form of several stacks of weapons placed on display. Her very presence should be enough to intimidate anyone.

"Hagakure is far and they make better company than most people."

Internally he's smiling at her joking statement.

"They're quiet. They don't judge. And they're easier on the eyes."

 _Oh_. That's when he starts laughing, but then silences himself a few seconds later.

"And they're not unused. If you were anyone else, I'd gladly tell you how many battles each of these blades have had. How many nicks they have. How many lives they've taken."

That's when he really stops laughing and feels his face go pale when he sees the wicked glint in her eyes. It's the truth of their world, after all, they are defined by war and bloodshed, by the number of scars on their bodies and the number of lives they've taken. Maybe, he thinks, she puts them on display to remind her.

"But these two," She points to the mounted katana and wakizashi on the sideboard in front of them, "They've seen more than the rest."

He knows those two blades.

Yamenokayama.

Kunishige.

The first time he witnesses the two swords in a seamless tandem of cuts and slashes, he let his guard down twice, or rather, was forced to. Lightweight, sharp, solid, two swords matching in perfect sync with their master. He was in awe of her ruthless grace when in possession of the two, her determined strikes never missing, her cutting power always evident.

But right now, as he stares at the two blades, he can't help but think if she still holds the same power as she does when in their company.

"And now they're put on display." He comments.

"Just like the rest of them." She sighs. "They deserve it."

 _This is their afterlife_ , she told him once before, all of the souls she's taken, willingly or unwillingly, placed on display and hung like ghosts. They will linger around her because she lets them, because this too is her afterlife. Life after the wartime is cold and calm, peace comes in the form of grave marks placed on display and scrolls filled with names that no one will ever read again.

"I have a collection of plants." He says.

"It suits you." She replies.

"Would you like to see?"

It's a direct/indirect invitation for her to come over to his place. _Quite discreet_ , he thinks, as she accepts in a second breath and he sighs in relief, pushing back the idea that she will deny him without batting an eyelash. So later that day he invites her in, after allowing her to follow him home, secretly finding amusement at the situation, and she wants to shrink in the empty expanse of space, the simplicity of the entire place.

 _He lives in an actual house. Not rented. Not shared. His own._ Two floors. Big windows. Polished floors. White walls. High bookshelves. And plants.

Lots of plants.

And if Haru taught her anything about men, it's those with houses that are worth fu…keeping.


	4. communication

They don't hold hands. He thinks it's inappropriate. She thinks it's unnecessary. Still, there are times where they both wonder how the other's skin would feel like. Clasp their hands together in the midst of battle, tell them that everything's going to be alright, that they're going to survive.

She doesn't need to tell him that they're going to survive.

He doesn't need to tell her that it's going to be alright.

In a life of war, you get used to the danger sooner or later. Everything becomes routine, systematic, kill-or-be-killed, each movement calculated and timed, specific and planned. Neither of them have to tell each other because it's expected. The survivability rate is remarkably high for the both of them, and is essentially untouchable when they're together.

He doesn't need to tell her.

She doesn't need to tell him.

 _"Thank you."_

Non-verbal communication is what they do best. He nods to her and she does the same, and almost instantaneously a hundred of words could be exchanged.

 _"You were great."_

 _"That was amazing."_

 _"You are beautiful."_

 _"I love you, too."_

Of course none of those were said. When he looks at her, he sends her a strategy, a signal, a warning, and when she looks at him, it is a response, a reply, and a signal for them to commence the next step.

 _"Your right."_

 _"Got it. Behind you."_

 _"Yes."_

She cuts his assailant's shoulder. He pierces her opponent's chest. She doesn't look at him this time, and he doesn't look at her, either. The brevity of their conversations make them effective, expeditious, they are best at what they do, and they are better together.

They are better together.

However, neither of them will be the first to admit such a romanticized fact.

 _"I am faster with you."_

 _"And I am more effective with you."_

 _"I look forward to our next mission."_

 _"As do I."_

Are the words exchanged in the aftermath of the battle. He grins despite his fatigue, and she does the same. She gathers the discarded swords and he picks up the kunai. When he glances towards her direction, he wants to ask her to dinner, but silences himself before he thinks aloud. And when she looks at him, she wants to treat him to dinner, seeing as he is one the first she would consider to be able to compliment her fighting style almost seamlessly.

 _"I am better with you."_

 _"As am I."_

Is a conversation reserved for their individual dreams. However, she breaks their record of lasting an entire mission. As they are on their way back to the village, she asks him when the village gates are in sight.

"Are you hungry?" She blurts out.

"Slightly." He replies after a pause.

She doesn't know what to say next. "Oh."

He hesitates before asking, "Do you want to eat?"

"If you want to."

"I don't know." She honestly doesn't. "Partially?"

"How about we grab a bite before turning in?"

"We can work on the report." She adds, "Together."

"It sounds plausible."

A pause.

"Where do you want to eat?"

A long pause.

"Anywhere."

"Alright."

The village gates are a few yards away.

He hesitates. "Where do you plan on eating?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Ah."

"Yeah."

Past the village gates.

"Ramen?" She suggests.

"Sure."

That's it. They both conclude that non-verbal communication suits them best. In the ramen stand, they eat in silence, occasionally handing the report to each other and finishing each other's sentences.


	5. curate

He's going to tell her something. She can tell by the way he hesitates, the slight hitch in his breath before he answers her questions, replies to her comments. If he was any other person, she wouldn't call this out, but he's who he is and she's going to tell him something, too. It was only a matter of who would go first, and then whether or not the other one's argument would be anything worth saying.

He walks two steps ahead of her and breathes in deep.

"I'm going to tell you something." He finally says. His back is towards her, and she can only assume his face is contorted in his nervousness. He was always the kind of person who would maintain a calm tone even in the face of adversity.

"Me too." She replies, blurts out more likely, instead of saying, "Go on."

"Oh." He hesitates again, and cranes his head over his shoulder to glance at her.

"But please," She smiles. "Go on."

"But it might be important."

"Not any more important than what you're about to say. Please."

"No, no, you first."

Are they children? Unable to decide on their own who would go first?

"I insist."

He pauses.

"Very well." He clears his throat and turns on his heel to face her completely. "I would like to get to know you."

 _Oh._ She thinks. _Was that it? How…formal._

"You already know me." She replies.

 _Of course I do!_ He screams at himself. _But I want to know you better. On a more personal level._

"On a more personal level." He adds.

"Ah." She is slack-jawed at his statement.

She doesn't say that they've both been to each other's residences, nor the number of missions they've taken together, nor the impromptu dinners shared after a grueling mission, nor the spontaneous room-sharing at inns.

"How about you?" He asks quickly, fearing the awkwardness settling between them, "What were you going to say?"

"I forgot." She lies. "But, dinner? I know a place around here."

"Sure." He replies.

She smiles and walks past him, and he follows her through the lit streets with colorful paper lanterns still hanging above them.

He remembers that Hagakure is her home town, although she grew up in the dark labyrinth of the Snake Sage, this village in between two high mountains is much as her home as his is Konoha. It is late in the summer and the annual festival had just ended the day before, the shops and the stores are placing their festive menu and souvenir items at half the price, an expensive meal at one of the village's restaurants would not cost them much.

Was he thinking about having a pricey meal with her?

"It's one of the finer restaurants around here." She calls out, "But the festival just ended and they're placing everything at half the price. It's my treat anyway. I hope you're in the mood for seafood."

Sure, they had a mission to retrieve classified Hagakure documents from a rival country, but she doesn't have to treat him. In all proper decorum between teammates, they should split the bill.

Oh. _Oh._

The Hydrangea's Poison. She has mentioned the restaurant in passing once. Decorated with paintings of various flowering plants and rare herbs, she thinks it is only fitting that she bring someone who is familiar with these to this restaurant.

"It's an interesting name." He comments.

"It's an awful name." She laughs. "If anyone else, I'd think this was just a pub owned by someone with bad taste."

And it is also a pub, with the far end of the establishment to host a long counter with several patrons all sipping from colorful cocktails decorated with various flowers. He'd like a taste, just out of curiosity.

"Have you been here before?" He asks as they are served a platter of sashimi.

"No." She picks up her chopsticks and picks out several pieces of fish.

He looks at the way she picks out the fish almost too selectively, "Then why all of a sudden?"

She dips a pink salmon into the soy sauce. "I needed someone to try out the festive course with me."

"Well," He picks a slice of tuna and places it on his plate. "Thank you."

He tries not to be flattered at her statement, tries not to think of this as a _date_.

"Oh." She voices out when they're half-way done with the first platter. "Did I ever mention that the first platter is a roulette? There's a single piece of fish here that's poisonous. Makes your taste buds light on fire."

He stops chewing and calls the waiter to serve the next platter of sushi rolls that, unbeknownst to him, has a piece that is infused with hot chili. She laughs.

"I like spicy food." She says upon serving on the third platter. "My mother used to make candy from wasabi root and sugar cane."

She thinks this is a promising first step to his getting to know her better, if only she told him in the first place that she'd like to do the same then maybe they would already consider this a first date.

And if she told him that she took all the spicy pieces on purpose.

"Would you like to go on another? I know a safer restaurant." She says on their way back to Konoha.

Hagakure is far from Konoha and she knows of the implication of her question and hopes that he notice it.

"And I know one that's right here, a restaurant that will cater to both our tastes." He replies and tells himself to ask her out the next time.

"I look forward to it."

When he gets home, he tries not to feel as if he's achieved something.


	6. cacography

It doesn't make any sense.

The letter in her hand remains folded and closed, crumpled at the edges and slightly damp from her sweat.

It shouldn't make sense.

"Does it make you uneasy?" The woman across her asks.

"No." She hesitates. "Just…Unsure."

"The position will not remain open for long." The woman explains. "If you refuse or if you are unable to give an answer in time, it will be given to someone else."

She remembers that the woman before her is the Hokage, the leader of the village, of the nation even, and feels slightly unworthy of being able to speak with her face-to-face. She is not yet officially affiliated with the village, and given her adamantly neutral position, she should be seen as a potential threat than an ally, but these people are different. They welcome her and call her friend just for the reason of her fighting alongside them in the war. They call her friend because she chose their side. If anything else, would they call her enemy? Strike her down like everyone else?

She lowers her eyes and replies, "I understand."

The woman sighs. "You were recommended."

"I was." She echoes.

"The position would be of great benefit to you and the village."

"Yes." She agrees.

The silence that follows is uncomfortable, and the woman sees it as the opportunity to say this, "I have come to know of your late mother."

Amakuni Sumire, or more known as her maiden name, Kotowari no Sumire, was one of Hagakure's best teachers, having masterfully created the Yatagare-ryu, where an opponent is taken down in eight movements (not strikes) or less, which included the drawing of the sword and every step the attacker makes. It was one of the styles unique to Hagakure alone, and one of the styles that will soon lose its status if she would not teach it to others.

"She was a teacher." She intones. "One of the best."

"And we consider you to be one of our valued allies, even after the war."

She thinks of the woman's words as an utmost compliment and tries not to smile.

She meets the woman's eyes levelly. "How much time will you give me?"

"How much do you need?"

"Not less than a day." She says immediately, though honestly thinking that she would need more than that.

"Two days." The woman concludes. "Until then."

She bows deeply in respect. "Of course."

The letter in her hand is crushed in between her fingers and her palm. She refuses to open it, even after she has exited the Hokage Tower. She had already considered the possibility of an offer to teach kenjutsu to the shinobi, and can't help but think of the irony. Kenjutsu was supposed to be unique to the samurai to counter ninjutsu. It was a refined art of controlled impulse and deliberate movement in contrast to ninjutsu's unpredictability and instability. Allowing shinobi to learn, maybe even master, the art would be something akin to sacrilege.

She would never allow herself the sin.

"You refused?"

He enters her apartment in the late afternoon and frowns at her current disposition towards him. She is seated on the couch, one leg tucked so that her chin rests on her knee and the other stretched out before her. The letter, now crumpled and flattened thrice over, sits on the low table beside her.

"I have three choices." She tells him.

He sits on the armchair facing her without permission and fears that she will strike him.

"I could accept." She says and sees his face brighten up, if only a little, "I could refuse." She continues, "or I could leave."

Her answers are blunt, and completely acceptable, but he thinks that she is forgetting another option.

"There is another option." He tests his luck. "You could just stay."

It honestly sounded better in his head, now that he's said it it's as if he's told her that he loves her.

He waits on her reply half hoping and half afraid that if she does get that meaning…

"And do what?" She asks.

Dense as ever.

"Stay. Relax. Eat ramen. Buy flowers. Collect knives. Go on missions. Live a life after the war, after all the fighting."

 _With me._

"You recommended me." She says. "Why?"

 _Because I want you to stay._

"Konoha needs someone like you." He replies. "Who knows when the next war might come around and when we would need a samurai in our ranks."

"Tetsu no Kuni has an abundance of them, if you haven't noticed."

"But they're not you." He blurts out, to which she tilts her head in confusion. He quickly adds, "That letter details my experience in working with you and that also explains why I would recommend you for such a position."

"The Hokage said it herself." She pushes the letter towards him. "I have no need for this, but thank you."

He wants her to keep it because it's not a recommendation letter, it's a love letter written on impulse after going on a night out for drinks with his _senpai_.

"If you're still having trouble deciding, you can read it, or if you've already decided you can throw it out."

Surely she isn't that heartless, is she?

But it is later in the night that she does decide to open it, only to reveal an unreadable message written with a dry brush.

"Is this a joke?"

The next day he curses himself aloud as he reads the note attached to the letter he gave her.

 _Your haiku could use more work. Try writing with ink next time, not gin._

He then finds his actual letter in the bottom drawer of his desk with a note from his _senpai_ :

 _Haiku. Bad haiku. At least this gives you the chance to actually woo her._


	7. cooperation

"Cooperate." She hisses.

"No, listen." He pleads.

She sighs. "You know I work better alone."

He reaches for her hand. "This time you don't have to."

"Alone." She grounds out, and believes that he has nothing more to say.

She turns away from him and his hand is left in the air.

How awkward.

"You wrote to me once, about a week or so ago." She begins and his breath catches in his throat. "I never did receive a re-take." She wonders aloud and he thinks she's provoking him.

"I didn't think you would have the time." He replied apologetically.

She rolls her eyes. "And apparently I have enough to pursue a mission with children."

"They could use a teacher like you!"

"A samurai teaching shinobi how to survive?" There was no doubt about how ludicrous the idea seemed to her. "I think I'd sooner finish the mission myself."

She wonders why it must be him who comes to her pleading for such a thing. Has he been reduced to nothing more than a mere messenger? Or is this what he does in his free time, get to know what the village has in store for her and ensure that she complies?

"It's a simple mission, an escort mission to Torigakure." He explains.

She blinks once and breathes through her mouth, before retorting, "And do you know how far that is? Terribly far. It would take me days, but with children I might take weeks."

"They could learn. You could teach them."

She wonders what would make him think so, but supposes it was because of her reluctant acceptance of the Hokage's offer to teach, to set-up a make-shift school of her own within the village as a sign of trust, of acceptance. But in her mind, it was a very political offer, to strengthen Konohagukure's shinobi by employing a foreigner to reveal all that would otherwise place the samurai above them.

But Hagakure, Tetsu no Kuni, and the island of Shizoku see no need to protect their art from the clutches of shinobi. The times has passed, and even the shinobi have taught their art of ninjutsu and genjutsu to samurai. It would only be fitting that the samurai do the same.

And later on, there would no longer be a distinction between the shinobi and the samurai. The unified world so desired by the lot of them would finally be possible.

"I could, but I opt not to."

"Why must you be so stubborn?" He sighs, sinks into the chair across from her.

"I am not of this village."

She has said that far too many times to count, but if he were counting, she would have said that twenty-two times since they has become something akin to friends.

"But you are an ally. You have declared so the other day."

And he has said that fifteen times already, still thankful that she still sees herself as such.

"An ally, not a teacher."

He doesn't understand her thinking, and explains, "You've several kenjutsu students already, young and old alike."

"And this is vastly different. Being sent on missions to ensure the safety of children as their teacher is not part of my profession."

 _Ah._

"It will be!" He says a little too loudly, but it doesn't startle her. His next statement, however, does. "The Hokage expresses her liking towards you."

"And I am supposed to feel the same?" She raises a brow. "I would apologize to her, but not to you."

He thinks it useless to persuade her with such. "Again, I ask, why must you be so stubborn?"

Her stare hardens and she asks coldly, "And why must you pester me so? Is my job something of interest to you?"

"Yes." There is no hesitation in his answer.

"Well, good for you." She replies, the irony thick in her tone, "Seems you're the more optimistic one of us."

"I did not mean it that way." He apologizes.

"Then what else could you mean? Am I such an interesting subject of shinobi teahouse discussion?"

She laughs mirthlessly and becomes unsteady in his resolve.

"Please. I only wish to understand what is making you hesitate so much…" He itches to reach for her hand, but does otherwise.

"Hagakure is far, and I no longer have ties as strong to it as I did before the war. If I were to return there, it would be permanent. You would likely never see me again."

So she wants to go home?

"We could visit." He suggests, using the friendly term "we" to refer to him and some near-invisible acquaintances.

She huffs. "You shinobi think of yourselves as water, whilst we samurai believe ourselves to be rock."

"A man of wood and a woman of steel." He thinks aloud.

"What?"

"The haiku." He says shyly, but doesn't allow his face to fluster as he recites;

 _"He, a man of wood_

 _meets with a woman of steel-_

 _how lovely she is."_

She nods in acknowledgement. "Quite the image you have there."

He replies moments later, "We have spent much time together and I feel I've known you enough to think so."

She didn't expect their conversation to be an outward confession of his feelings, not does he expect to see an embarrassed, if not flustered, expression gracing her steely features. He finds short amusement in it, that one as fearsome as she is still human like him. That she could somehow reciprocate the same feelings.

She blinks several times and she regains the cold edge to her voice, admitting, "How kind of you to think such things."

"But it is true." He gathers the courage and takes her hand in his, and looks at nothing but the shape of her hand. "I think we have grown to enjoy each other's company."

Her hand twitches in his and he feels cold.

"I would like to think so, but we have our responsibilities." She says, but doesn't removes her hand from his, finds a sad comfort in his warmth. "You are an ANBU and I wish to return to Hagakure."

"I wish for you to remain here." He holds her hand firmly.

She thinks how childish he is to say such words, but nonetheless appreciates it. "I will, but not for long."

"How long?"

"I cannot say."

He releases her hand and she forces herself not to think of how his fingers would fit in between hers.

"The children are eager to have you be their guide to Torigakure." He returns their conversation to before.

"Then you guide them." She suggests, a humored glint in her eye, "It's almost the same thing, except you know nothing of kenjutsu and I am a far better combatant."

"Konohagakure wishes your cooperation."

"And have I given anything but?" She questions him, eyes hard and expressed cold. "You wishful shinobi think that samurai are so easily swayed by words."

"I will work on my haiku, then." He smiles.

"Terrible work." She replies with a grin of her own. "I'd rather you quit already."

He gives it three days before writing her a new one, a re-take. It is late in the afternoon and he meets her in the training grounds, under the shade of an old tree. He recites;

 _"As you breathe cold air_

 _I shake, a tree in the wind_

 _how are you so cold?"_

She laughs. "Better."

He smiles at her approval, but frowns as he says, "You didn't take the mission."

She breathes audibly through her nose. "If I did? What then?"

"I would thank you."

"You are ANBU. Surely you understand."

Death is their profession, after all.

"If I were to accompany children," She continues, "It would mean nothing to the gravity of what I have done and what I must continue to do."

He thinks her words could only mean one thing. "When are you leaving?"

"The Hokage wishes to reestablish relations with Hagakure." She says. "A week."

"And you will return?" He coaxes.

"I do not know when." She admits.

He smiles. "I wish you a safe journey."

"It's already a given."

"Then I wish for your safe return."

Whether it was to Hagakure or to Konohagakure, she does not know, doesn't dare ask. But she reaches to grasp his free hand with hers, leans her mouth to his cheek, and presses a chaste kiss to his skin.

"How kind of you." She whispers.

And then she is gone, taking the haiku along with her.


	8. coercion

Hagakure has changed little in the past few years.

After the Fourth Shinobi World War, one would expect life Hagakure to fall into shambles, and yet the town remains the same way it has always been. The river cutting across the village remains the same; bright orange leaves and peach blossoms are flowing downstream to the where the children gather them in wicker baskets to show to their mothers.

She saunters around the village, reacquainting herself with the cubic organization of the streets, remembering where her mother's favorite flower shop, her father's favorite restaurant, her brother's favorite toy store. It's almost as if nothing has changed at all in all the years she was away. She passes by her family home, the compound empty and quiet, having being turned into a tribute for her late mother and father, martyrs of the Third Shinobi World War.

She wonders if she could still find her childhood things there, but thinks not of trespassing the barred, locked doors of her former home. She stills herself in front of their graves, whispers a prayer and a wish for luck, imagining them to welcome her back with open arms, exclaiming;

 _"You've returned!"_

But alas, she believes herself too old for such things.

So she visits Amane Shinretsu, the woman responsible for forming Tori-Hana-Ken among other 3-man teams in secret, the owner of the brothel, Senbara. The older woman greets her with a smug grin as she exhales sweet-smelling smoke from her mouth.

"I never thought I'd see you back so soon."

"It's nice to visit every once in a while, Shitsu-sama." She bows deeply out of much respect.

"So this isn't a business call?" The woman frowns slightly. "Has Konohagakure kept you busy after the war?"

"You took the words right out of my mouth." She laughs. "I thought I'd relax for a while. Take a break."

"You might have come to the wrong place. I've lots of errands I hoped to have someone to run."

By 'errand' she could only mean another contract.

Shikai sighed. "Can we just talk a while, Shitsu-sama?"

The older woman is taken aback, exhaling a cloud of smoke through her agape mouth. She eyes Shikai in disbelief, and without sensing the least bit of dishonesty in her, closes her mouth and hums in agreement.

"You've changed." She comments before she inhales a large bout of smoke from her pipe. She taps the pipe on the table thrice before exhaling a thick, sweet-smelling smoke that immediately flies past Shikai and pushes the doors to the establishment closed.

"There." The woman says, placing her smoking pipe down on the table, "We wouldn't be disturbed for a while."

To anyone else, that feat was quite the trick, but for Shikai who knew this woman from time ago, that was just one of her special abilities to manipulate smoke, a specialized form of Fuuton ninjutsu.

"Show off." Shikai replies.

Shinretsu simply waves this off with a lazy smile. "Come. I think I still have those sweets you claimed to hate."

She follows the older woman to a small room, a private space kept hidden by an elaborate tapestry at the end of the hall. At the center of the room is a low table and four seat cushions. To the left, there is a large peach blossom _bonsai_. Beside it, a small fountain. Past the table, there is a circular window overlooking the courtyard. To the right, there is a simple shelf half-filled with porcelain and old books.

"You were expecting visitors?" Shikai notes the afternoon set-up on the table; red bean cakes, rice pudding, and an assortment of sweets, along with two saucers and a pitcher of _sake_ , and a teapot and two cups.

"Tenkou sent a letter yesterday." Shinretsu admits as she enters the room, sitting on one of the cushions.

"Of course she would." Shikai comments, trying to recall whether she had mentioned her departure to the younger woman.

"Sit." The older woman motions her to the seat across. "Tell me of your life in Konoha. How is life after the war?"

In all honesty, Shikai hadn't imagined life afterwards to be as it was now. She had always thought that she'd return to Hagakure without a second thought, continue her mother's school as a partial retirement from a life of death and violence, visit her younger brother in Shizoku and spend the winter with him and his family.

Everything is so different than what she had planned for herself and she can't tell if it is for the better.

"It's unexpected, to say the least." She finally admits. "I never thought I'd be indebted to a shinobi."

"How so?"

 _Sake_ is poured onto a saucer in front of her.

"They called us friends after the war, not anymore just allies or comrades, but companions." She is still shocked at the fact. "They want us to stay. They even asked if I would mentor their children, if I would accompany a group of young shinobi to Torigakure because…because they found that they could trust me."

She takes the saucer and finishes its contents in one gulp.

"And then?"

The saucer is refilled. She takes a pastry from the table and bites into it, savoring the sweet, tangy flavor.

"And then there's this man." She suddenly blurts out.

"A man?"

"He has become my friend." She says tentatively. "I found that our fighting styles are compatible. He is an efficient shinobi. He is strong, smart. He writes terrible haiku."

There's a heavy pause before anyone speaks.

"He is courting you?" Shinretsu suggests.

"Oh, no!" She becomes flustered at the thought. "I haven't thought of him in that way."

Was haiku, albeit terrible haiku, a sign of one's romantic interest? Yes, at least that's what schools in Hagakure taught, that writing love letters in the form of haiku was part of the art of courtship and romance.

"That's what you think." Shinretsu takes her own cup of sake and drinks coyly, amused at Shikai. "And I thought you're familiar with seduction tactics?"

She wasn't wrong. One of the older woman's basic requirement was that her teams were knowledgeable and effective in the ways of seduction. She wasn't an advocate of using violence to achieve one's goals, she believes a more subtle tactic should be used, on men and women both. Shinretsu formed 3-man teams with the prerequisite that these men and women in her employment were people capable of seducing and subduing an enemy without a second thought.

"I am. Just not familiar with being on the receiving end."

"Aha!" The older woman exclaims, smirking proudly, "So he is courting you."

"No!" She replies quickly. "I would not think of him in that way!"

He is a friend. He is her friend.

"The best romance blossoms from the best friendship." Shinretsu concludes. "I give him my blessing."

"Shitsu-sama!" She shouts exasperatedly.

Meanwhile, in Konohagakure a man's boisterous laughter fills an otherwise quiet room. Hatake Kakashi was a man of few words, Yamato even less. But Kakashi believed that actions spoke louder than words, and laughter expressed much more than any amount of words.

"It's not like that!" Yamato defended. "She wanted a re-take and I couldn't think of anything else."

What harm would a simple verse have anyway? A lot, as it turns out.

"Haiku, Tenzou." Kakashi began, "Haiku has always been the way to a woman's heart. And with her being a samurai and all…"

He chooses his words carefully, hesitantly, "Was she asking that I court her?"

"Probably." Kakashi shrugs. "On second thought, maybe not. Is she showing signs of interest?"

"Not that I can recall."

Maybe they were platonic actions. Maybe he was over reading into her reactions, her sudden invitations. Maybe it wasn't even romantic interest.

"We're friends." He says.

"And wouldn't that be a great next step to your relationship?" Kakashi suggests. "As was in your terrible haiku, a man of wood and a woman of steel." He muses, "I wonder which bloodline your children would inherit."

That's taking it a bit too far, right?

"I haven't…Why are you thinking about it?" He demands, feeling flustered at the thought.

Kakashi sends him a sheepish smile. "If you think about it, it's a lethal combination. You're one of the few to inherit the Senju bloodline, and she's one of the few thought to inherit the Hagakure bloodline. But if she did inherit it…then how lucky your children will be to inherit two of the strongest elemental bloodlines."

"I'm not even courting her and you're thinking about children?" He omits the word 'our' on purpose.

"You'd better get started, then." was his casual reply.


	9. courier

9 courier

A/N: Happy V-day. Call this "spur of the moment" crap.

/

He becomes acquainted with her younger comrade a little over two weeks after her departure from Konohagakure. Asayake Tenkou is the counterfeiter of her three-man team, Tori-Hana-Ken. A long-distance fighter and excellent marksman, her presence is a burst of bright (unwanted) energy from his routine. He knows of her from before, but hadn't had the opportunity to hold a proper conversation with her until now.

It is late in the morning when she appears before him with dirt on her face and leaves in her hair. She waves to him before dismissing the chuunin she had been tutoring on the varieties of medicinal herbs found in Torigakure, her hometown. She runs up to him with and begins their conversation by stating the words he didn't want to hear:

"She sent a letter."

"Ah. Yes." He replies curtly. "I've read it.

She frowns. "Aren't you going to reply?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Say something." She shrugs. "Anything."

He looks around. They're in front of his home, and she having caught him just as he was about to leave. He decides to ask, "Why are you here?"

She nods. "To make sure you do say something."

"Oh." He ponders her statement, but dismisses it as he walks past her, "Well that's not really necessary."

She quickly turns and falls into step with him. She hums to herself, sporting a casual smirk as she asks, "Do you like her?"

He is dumbfounded by the question, but answers with an automatic: "I don't know what you mean."

She glances at him knowingly. "You sent her haiku didn't you?"

That is when he stops. "She read that to other people?"

"No." She chuckles. "But she isn't keeping it a secret either."

He flushes slightly, muttering to himself, "I see."

He didn't think she'd keep the haiku at any visible place. If anything, keeping the haiku away from prying eyes seems more like her. Maybe she'd even keep it on her person, but he rules that out as being uncharacteristic of her. Surely, she isn't one for the sentiment of it. Surely, he thinks, she would have kept the haiku at the bottom of a drawer somewhere, where she could only chance upon it.

The younger woman looks at him and sighs to herself.

"If you're thinking of sending her flowers, she doesn't have any favorites, but her favorite color is blue."

Of course she wouldn't have any favorites. Flowers wouldn't be of much use to her beyond the aesthetic appeal. She prefers blades, or anything solid and long-lasting in her hands than anything transient and temporal. He thinks of giving her another gift, but what kind and what for?

He nods. "I'll keep that in mind."

And at that point, the young woman beside him winks and says,

"Mine are chrysanthemums, if you're wondering."

He's not.

/

Life goes on in Hagakure after the war. Peace is what they had sought, and peace is what they had finally achieved. Since her return to Hagakure, she has spent much time reuniting herself with the family she had spent little time with. Visitors come into Hagakure to congratulate them, to commission them, very little come to hire them as bodyguards and the idyllic lifestyle slowly seeps into their lives. But she doesn't expect visitors that come into her family home asking specifically for her.

"Samurai-san."

Hatake Kakashi is her first visitor from Konohagakure. She receives him in one of the room overlooking the courtyard. When she enters, he sits on his ankles, presses his palms to his knees, and bows.

"You." She says, not knowing how to address him, as she sits across him. "What brings you to Hagakure?"

He rises and meets her steady gaze with a single eye. "The Hokage had me deliver a message."

A teapot and two cups are placed on the low table between them. The door is slid shut and a breeze passes by the trees.

She sighs and settles on the floor, gesturing to the tea. "Courier duties, then?"

He nods, taking his cue to sit on the floor rather than the balls of his feet. She pours him a cup and he takes it.

"Anything to escape what's coming." He blurts out.

"Pardon?"

"Ah, I forgot you were not there to hear the news." He says sheepishly. "The fifth Hokage is stepping down from her position. I am to replace her."

A brief silence.

"Congratulations."

"Thank you, I suppose."

She pours herself a cup and drinks her tea gingerly.

When she finishes, she sees that he has also finished his. How? Did he drink with the mask on? Is his mask made of mesh?

"Is there anything else that brings you to Hagakure?"

"I'm hoping you could help me find a certain man hiding in Ken no Kuni."

She appreciates his being straightforward, but frowns inwardly at the message itself. "Are there not any shinobi to aid you in this endeavor?"

"It is a mission of utmost confidentiality."

Her frown tips deeper into her face. What kind of missions was this that it only had to be done by a shinobi and samurai duo?

She continues for him, "And you would share this mission with me."

"The Hokage recommended that I seek your assistance."

She nods. "And she believes I would assist you."

"Is she wrong?"

She looks at him and dislikes how she could only see a single eye that is neither pleading nor convincing. He's asked a question that had struck quite a sensitive nerve in her; should she reject the invitation, she would be answering to the Hokage herself, one of the few that outwardly expressed their trust on her, should she accept the invitation, she would be allying herself with a shinobi that she had little experience with, but other than that there seemed to be no other complication.

Her frown disappears as she sighs defeated.

"Who are you looking for?"

/

In the next few days, he, Tenkou, and Sakura are assigned on a simple mission. Rescue a hostage. Simple. Given his unique ability, her precise skill, and Sakura's strength, it would be simple.

And it was. Surprisingly so, even. Have Sakura take the front line, him on support, and Tenkou handling surveillance and infiltration. For a three-man team, it felt as if they were an entire band of shinobi sent to rescue this innocent civilian

-that apparently was one of the richest nobles in the Fire Country.

Upon returning to Konohagakure, Sakura is assigned immediately to another recovery mission, and Tenkou treats him to dinner as congratulations on their job well done.

She immediately kickstarts their conversation with the question, "Have you sent it yet?"

He stutters in spite himself, a little surprised that she is still hung up on that. "No, I…"

She sighs dejectedly. "It's nearing month now and she hasn't heard from you."

Of course they write to each other; they've known each other for years. Having command over several types of birds, it would only make sense that this young woman have messenger birds in her arsenal-making it feel as if personal communication across vast distances were simple face-to-face conversations.

"Then why won't she write to me?"

She's only written to him once. It was her fifth day in Hagakure and her letter simply contained her narration of her day-to-day life. He's excited for her, of course, it's been quite some time since she had returned to her home and it only seems opportune that she indulge herself in the Hagakure lifestyle now that the war is over. He appreciates her vivid descriptions and wishes he were there to see it in person.

But would he say that? What could he reply, then? Shall he narrate his daily life for her in return? How bland-he thinks. If they did do that, write to each other letters narrating their mundane lives, what else would they talk about when she returns?

Tenkou sighs again. "She did and you haven't replied."

He concludes then, that he might not be as good with words with her as he is with others.

He asks her then, "Why are you so concerned about this?"

It is the question of the hour-no, the week, as she had kept pestering him on it. But for Tenkou, the answer is simple.

"She's different around you." She states. "Before she'd be so stoic around other people, but now she's a little bit more sociable." She smiles.

He dismisses it as simply being pure coincidence as he replies, "Maybe she didn't know that much people before."

"I heard she's teaching her mother's Yatagare-ryu." She says. "To kids." She pauses for dramatic effect. "She's dealing with kids!"

Tenkou always knew that Shikai disliked working with children.

He smiles. "That sounds nice."

His dismissiveness astounds her, so she says, "And your senpai is in Hagakure."

"Yes." He nods.

She could almost be shocked by how calm he is. "Doesn't that make you feel uneasy?"

"Why would it?"

"He's the type that she doesn't want to work with." Obviously. "Stubborn and single-minded as she is."

"And?"

She groans. Looks at his face. Laughs. "Write to her!"

And that night, he began drafting his first letter.

/

Similarly, she and Kakashi began a simple mission of tracking a ronin in Ken no Kuni only to find themselves in a mission to find a group of ronin planning to overthrow a certain country's daimyo in order to be hired by a richer country's daimyo. A few days after beginning to formerly tracking mission, the group of ronin are arrested by Hagakure's elite guard and are placed on execution for treason.

It doesn't make sense at first that Konohagakure initiates the mission to save the Hagakure daimyo, that he is sent with her, but it does later on. The group of ronin are composed by both samurai and shinobi who have combined their individual techniques in order to create synchronized attacks that would overpower any other opponent.

But he is who he is, and so is she. His Sharingan could so easily copy any of those physical techniques and her Shuureigan could so easily nullify those elemental attacks. It only made sense then, during their first and only battle with the group, that only the two of them would be sent on this mission without any other assistance.

It only made sense then, when they've incapacitated the enemy without so much as a strategy that consisted of "Watch my back, and I'll watch yours" and nothing else, why the copy-nin and the chakra-eater are sent on this mission together.

"And so they sent you." She says as a conclusion to her thoughts on their way out of the daimyo's tower.

"They could have sent anyone, actually." He replies sheepishly.

And she agrees. "Then they should have sent Tenkou."

"I heard she's busy with something else. And the Inuzuka clan seems to have their hands full as well."

In all honesty, the mission would have gone faster with a veteran tracker. Tenkou's army of beasts would have done the job quite easily. And the Inuzuka dogs are clearly better than any other tracking animal in Konoha.

Too bad, she thinks. "And so there's you and your mutts."

"Ninken." He corrects.

"Mutts." She deadpans. They don't matter to her, anyway. "What about those students of yours, couldn't they have been sent instead?"

What is he-the only one who could do such an easy task of finding someone? Despite their success, she's still wary of him with the Sharingan eye. He's spent much of their time together in silence, drowning himself in that book he keeps glued to his face. He doesn't talk of a plan, and she think she's making things up as he goes along, trusts his abilities too much and expects that she does the same. She mistakes his perpetual calmness as carelessness, laziness, and she wonders what is it in him that makes him a man worthy of much admiration in Konoha because she can see none past his skill.

He gets the subtle message in her words and says it for her: "You dislike my company."

She exhales through her nose and explains, "When it's clear enough that you'd rather be doing something else."

Even now after their mission, it's clear that he'd rather be reading his book-again.

"And what are you doing these days?" He is genuinely curious.

"Teaching my mother's Yatagare-ryu to prospective students." She answers.

"I didn't know you had it in you."

"Neither did I." She could opt to end the conversation there, but continues, "But things change, and I returned to Hagakure to make sure that these teachings don't disappear in time."

He's sure that she's a better fighter than a teacher, but admires how she values teaching as much as him.

/

He is halfway through writing the letter when Tenkou surprises him, blurts out, disturbs the silence like thunder on a sunny day.

"She liked him before, you know. Before she met you."

He grimaces and stops writing. He turns to her then and wonders why he allowed her in his home as he writes the letter. His stern face meets her shocked expression.

He raises a brow. "And you are telling me this as I write the letter?"

She waves her hands in front of his face in defense. "I thought you knew!"

He narrows his eyes. "I do now."

Well. Now that she's introduced the idea, it doesn't sound half-bad. Kakashi was the cool, mysterious type that had girls swooning and women blushing without even knowing it.

"Sorry." She says before muttering a string of curses under her breath.

He shrugs. No harm done. If anything, it made enough sense that she did. She's only human after all, prone to feelings of attraction and desire. They were both strong individuals in their own right, users of special bloodlines and bearers of great physical prowess. If the Sharingan and the Shuureigan were combined in battle, then-

She stops his stops with a casual confession: "If it makes any difference, I like you."

He stops thinking, exclaims the only word in his head, "What?"

She clarifies as she looks him dead in the eye, "Present-tense."

He swallows his nervousness. Was this an actual confession? If it was, she couldn't had chosen a better time.

"I'm-I'm not sure what to say."

"Don't say anything!" She waves her hands in his face again. "Just had to put it out there."

He doesn't understand, but then begins to piece things together. Her sudden intrusion into his life. The free lunches, dinners. The near-constant pestering. Her curiosity in his relationships…

The thought struck him like a thunderbolt. "Were you waiting to confirm something?"

"Confirm what?" She replies suddenly before realizing that he's found out. She groans. "God, I feel like the villain here, but yes. I wanted to confirm something from your end because she's somewhat already confirmed on hers."

She's an open book when she's honest, he supposes.

"Somewhat?" He genuinely wants to learn what she said. "What did she say?"

"I'm not telling!"

He frowns. It's already a lot to take in. He's half down on his letter and then a sudden confession comes in without any prior notice or explanation.

"You're not making this any easier for me."

"Easier for you?" She sounds appalled. "I'm the one with the dilemma here!"

"Just tell me."

His face is calm, collected, but he's sure that she's seeing something else-judging from the terrified expression that flashes across her features before she drops defeated.

"In verbatim." She clears her throat before taking a folded piece of paper from her pocket, she shows him the only visible line from the letter as she states from memory, "He and I are good friends. If anything else, I think we'd be great partners."

"Partners." He repeats.

"It could mean anything." She says exasperatedly.

It could, and so he decides to finish the letter faster.

/

She treats him to lunch the day he is scheduled to return to Konoha, as thanks, as congratulations. He accepts her invitation out of respect, seeing as she's been such a kind host, offering him a place to stay for free in her family's estate and being the good comrade she is. They're sitting beside each other, albeit a visibly empty space between them, that way-she thinks-he could eat without worrying over whether or not she sees his face, not that she cares about it. She doesn't.

Their conversation comes across a particularly sensitive subject when she asks:

"How is he?"

Kakashi already knows who she's talking about. "He's doing fine. Just a bit more flustered than usual."

"Really?" She stares at the steaming bowl in front of her.

He continues, "He seems to be the target of affection for a lot of ladies."

She tilts her head to the side. "Is that so?"

"You can't blame him." He shrugs. "Your friendly relations seems to be taken exactly as what it seems-friendly relations."

She's quiet for a moment as she thinks. Could he assume that she's attracted to his kouhai? She is, but hasn't had the leisure to wonder what direction she'd like their relationship to turn to. They're an effective team, yes. He's charming to a certain extent. He's understanding. He's a natural leader. He's simple. He's down-to-earth. He's…nice.

But she decides to downplay it altogether when she exclaims suddenly, "Because there's nothing more to it!"

To which he retorts with a simple: "He's written you haiku."

She winces inwardly. "A terrible one."

He sees her smile. "You kissed him."

"On the cheek." She is on the defensive, but her averting gaze is telling. She calms herself before turning to him with an annoyed expression, "Really, does everything have a hidden message with you shinobi?"

"I should ask the same thing." He shrugs. The fact that the only thing she can see of his face is the single eye does not help. She feels attacked when he asks, "Is not poetry the language of courtship in your archaic culture?"

"Of refined taste, you mean." She scoffs. "You shinobi have no idea what proper courtship entails."

"Then what does?"

She sees him lean a little towards her.

She grounds out. "I think of him as a comrade."

The single eye blinks at her.

"I'm not asking for him."

At that moment, her mouth runs dry.

/

After that outburst, an awkward silence falls on the both of them as he finishes the letter as fast as he could and she occupies herself with reading through a scroll. Internally, she's screaming at herself for outwardly proclaiming her girlish feelings for admiration for him. He's a great guy. A good guy. Shikai becoming a more sociable person is a testament to that, but how dare she intrude on their nearing-intimate relationship when she hasn't been given the sign of approval?

The pen drops to the table with an audible thud. He finishes the letter in record time and she sighs inwardly to calm herself.

He hands the letter to her, all five pages of it, folded neatly with the recipient's name written on the front, without so much as a word. His eyes are cast down and she wants to apologize.

Instead, she promises, "I'll make sure this gets to her before sundown."

"Thank you." He mutters.

She bites her lip and a string of curses flood her head, but she always keeps her promise. So she sends the fastest bird she has, the falcon, towards Hagakure right after she exits his home.

/

After the open-ended conversation, a silence befalls the two of them as she eats quickly, as noisily as she can to fill the already awkward space between them. She minutes the entire bowl in a little over three minutes and sees that he hasn't touched his. She frowns. She found herself attracted to him before, yes, but hadn't most women? The guilty feeling that settles in her stomach accompanies the food, leaving a sour aftertaste in her mouth. She doesn't know what he really meant by his words and thinks about asking him about it. Then again, she might have misinterpreted them and asking could only cause her embarrassment.

And Yamato. She likes him. Tells herself she likes him, but the lack of response to her letter doesn't help with the distance. Perhaps she's delusional, perhaps she's mistaking her feeling for something else. Perhaps she ought to ask-

He's reading his book again, for what might be the fourth time, and she just dismisses the thought.

It is then he stands up and bows deeply towards her, without removing the book from his face, and says for an abrupt goodbye: "I look forward to working with you again, samurai-san."

She looks at his single eye and mutters. "Likewise."

His food remained untouched, except that there is a piece of paper wedged underneath the bowl that wasn't there previously. Her curiosity gets the best of her and she decides to check it.

"Come back."

/

A/N: Well. That was a sharp turn.


End file.
